


Overdue

by MissCrazyWriter321



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Canon-Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eve's Ongoing Identity Crisis, F/M, Heart-to-Heart, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Unresolved Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26778553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/pseuds/MissCrazyWriter321
Summary: It isn’t the first time she’s done this, he thinks ruefully: shown up at his house  in the middle of the night with unclear motives, pleading with him to let her in. It is, however, the first time she’s done it since becoming Eve.
Relationships: Sean Renard/Juliette Silverton
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	Overdue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! It's me again, plugging along with this little ship. I don't think I have any notes here, really, so... I hope you enjoy!

It isn’t the first time she’s done this, he thinks ruefully: shown up at his house in the middle of the night with unclear motives, pleading with him to let her in. It is, however, the first time she’s done it since becoming Eve.

She stands on his front porch, hands shoved in her pockets, looking more than a little out of place. 

Briefly, he wonders if she’s here to kill him-he did cross Nick, after all, and no matter the name, it seems her protectiveness of him hasn’t faded-but there’s nothing threatening in her posture, so he opens the door. “Eve?”

“Hi.” She gives an awkward wave. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” He steps aside instinctively, making room for her to slip through the doorway. “Is everything alright?”

She starts to nod, then hesitates, offering a shrug instead. “Before. When you first met… Me. The new me, I mean. You said… You said there were other things we could talk about.” She does not meet his eyes as she finishes quietly, “Guess I’m ready to talk.”

Whatever he might have expected, this is a surprise. He remembers the day she’s talking about, of course; it would be hard to forget the monotone voice, lifeless eyes, and  _ hideous _ wig. The contrast between Juliette-warm on her best days, an inferno on her worst-and this cold shell of a human being had been unbearable. 

The woman in front of him, however, is almost worse. She looks like Juliette, talks like Juliette, and-he’s quite certain of it-feels as much as Juliette ever did. But it’s like there’s a piece of her missing, and he doesn’t know if she’ll ever get it back. 

Still, though. He finds himself doing what he always does for her, no matter what name she carries: he gives in. “Can I get you something to drink?”

She shakes her head, settling down on one end of his couch. He starts to take the other end, but detours at the last second, pulling up a chair instead. Close enough to hopefully offer her some support, but not close enough to leave her feeling trapped. 

They sit in silence for a long moment, before she laughs. It’s shaky, bordering on hysterical, unnervingly reminiscent of the last few days of her spiral as Juliette. “I came all the way here, and I don’t even know what to say.” 

A thousand retorts settle on his tongue, sarcasm instinctively bubbling up. For her, though, he bites it back, grappling for something a bit gentler. “Why don’t we start with how you’re holding up?” 

“I don’t know.” She runs a hand over her face. “I don’t know. I don’t-how do you  _ live  _ with yourself?” 

The change of subject is so sudden, it takes him a few seconds to track it. When he does, a chill washes over him, fury curling in his veins. He forces himself to breathe, to not jump to conclusions, but his voice is tight when he replies. “Excuse me?”

If she’s aware of his change of mood (and he’s certain she is; she’s as perceptive as they come, these days), she doesn’t acknowledge it, too caught up in whatever’s rattling around inside her head. “You worked for  _ Black Claw. _ ” She rises to her feet, and he does the same, bracing himself. “People are dead because of you.  _ Good  _ people. Meisner-”

Enough of this. “Meisner was already dying,” he growls. “I did what I had to do.”

She finally looks up at him, eyes flashing defiantly (and he hates that he loves that, even now, with rage pulsing through him). “And  _ why  _ was he dying?” She plows on, not giving him a chance to answer. “He was dying because you brought monsters  _ right to him, and _ -”

“Enough!” He takes a step toward her, but she holds her ground. “I don’t have to listen to this-”

“What, did you think they wouldn’t kill him?”

“Yes!”

She freezes, and he freezes, and the whole house seems to freeze. He draws in a breath, fury subsiding to a dull roar, as grief settles in. 

“I thought they’d let him join us,” he admits, quieter. “That was the plan. My plan, anyway.” He grimaces. “Turns out, Bonaparte had other ideas. If I’d known…” He shakes his head. “You don’t have to believe me. But Meisner was my friend, and-”

“I do,” she interrupts, and he pauses. 

“Pardon?”

“I believe you.” Her expression is grim. Unforgiving. “You really thought Meisner would work with Black Claw for you.” 

Put like that, it’s… Well. Maybe she has a point. It’s just that after everything they’d been through, there’s little he wouldn’t have done for Meisner, and he assumed that went both ways. If he’d have known-if he’d have thought- 

But he didn’t think. From the moment Black Claw gave him Diana, he thought of nothing but giving her the best life possible, even if that meant letting everyone else burn. Meisner… Meisner paid the price. 

He opens his mouth, about to admit to the things running through his mind, when she speaks once more.

“What about me?”

He frowns. “What about you?”

She crosses her arms, turning away to face the window. It doesn’t have much of a view, but she stares out of it anyway, refusing to meet his eyes. “Did you think I’d join Black Claw? Because if I’d been there, Bonaparte would’ve killed me, too. Well-” She corrects herself with a dry laugh. “He’d have tried.” 

In spite of himself, his lips twitch at the last, but he can only shrug at her words. “I knew you wouldn’t be there,” he says simply. For a moment, he thinks of saying more, of mentioning the way he suggested a distraction for her and Trubel-not only to keep them out of the way but to keep them  _ safe- _ but her sharp inhale warns him that it might now be well-received at the moment.

“Then, maybe. But what about later?” She glances back at him. “Eventually, I would’ve had two choices: Join Black Claw, or die. What did you think I’d do?”

The truth is, she might not take this well, either, but he’s not going to lie to her. “I was hoping I’d have time to convince you to join us. Join me.”

Her mouth falls open, and she stares at him in utter disbelief. Then, her expression hardens. “After the things I did, I had nothing left to live for. Nothing but stopping Black Claw.” She sounds less like Juliette now, more like Eve: voice even, monotonous. “I wouldn’t have joined you. Not ever.”

There is nothing to say to that. 

He bows his head, settling back into his seat. “I’m sorry,” he says simply, and it’s not enough-it will never be enough-but all the fight drains from her, nonetheless. 

_ “I’m  _ sorry. _ ”  _ She mirrors his action, returning to the couch and plopping down. “I didn’t come here to argue.” Oh, but she sounds absolutely exhausted, almost on the verge of tears. “I asked you how you live with yourself, because I can’t close my eyes without seeing Kelly Burkhart’s head in that box.” 

_ Oh.  _ He swallows, heart breaking for her all over. Fighting with her is, frankly, easier than it should be. They’ve long-known how to push each other’s buttons, to draw each other into a fight that makes them both forget their pain. (Sometimes it isn’t a fight they choose, but the result is the same.) 

He doesn’t want to fight with her. He wants to help her. (Wants more than that, maybe-so much more than that-but after the things he has done, even thoughts of roses and happy endings are far more than he deserves.) 

“I killed Henrietta.” It’s a quiet confession, but by the way she goes utterly still, he knows she’s heard it.

“What?” Her voice is tight. Controlled.  _ Terrified,  _ and more than a little furious. 

He weighs his words carefully. “I mean, it wasn’t  _ me,  _ exactly.” For a second, he isn’t altogether sure how to explain this. “Remember when I was shot? When I ended up in the hospital?” At her wary nod, he continues. “I died. My mother brought me back, but… I didn’t come back alone.”

She takes this better than expected, although perhaps at this point she’s beyond surprise. “Who came with you?”

A grim smile he cannot quite stop. “Jack the Ripper.”

“Whoa.” 

“Yeah.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I kept… Blacking out. Losing chunks of time. I’d wake up with blood all over me, in strange parts of town… I thought I was losing my mind. Guess I kind of was. So… I went to Henrietta for help.” 

He hasn’t truly let himself dwell on this since it happened. There have always been abundant distractions, after all, and the reality of what happened is sickening. But he’s come this far; no going back.

“Jack killed her?” Eve fills in. 

“He never would have even known who she was if it hadn’t been for me.” He ducks his head, unable to meet her eyes. “She trusted me, and I led a monster right to her.” 

Silence settles over them, not quite comfortable, but…  _ Something.  _ Thick with shared grief and guilt, things neither of them know how to deal with, but with that, the certainty that they aren’t alone. She scoots a little closer to the edge of the couch-closer to him-and her foot rests just beside his. Close enough to touch, though neither of them move to close the gap. 

“All this time, I could keep going because…” Her voice is soft, now. “Because someone had to stop Black Claw. Because someone had to protect Diana. But now… There’s no more wars. I just don’t know what to do.”

He hums. “There’s always more wars. Always someone else to fight, if that’s what you want.” 

She shudders, and he thinks she might be on the verge of tears, not that she’d let it show. How long, exactly, has she been bottling this up? “I’m just-” Her voice isn’t quite steady. “I’m so  _ tired _ of fighting.” She presses her lips together tightly, closing her eyes, tremors running through her. Everything in him wants to protect her, to wrap her in his arms and stroke her hair until neither of them are afraid anymore.

But she looks like that might shatter her, and if it doesn’t, she will definitely shatter him for trying. So he only presses the side of his foot to hers, offering a point of contact. “Then  _ stop,”  _ he says simply. 

She swallows twice, rough and unsteady, before wiping her eyes. When she opens them, they’re red-rimmed, but no tears fall. “How?”

He’s hardly the best example of finding inner peace, but… “Find something. Or someone. For me, it’s Diana. When I take care of her, I know I’m making the world a little better.” 

The laugh she gives is watery, but sincere. “You want me to have a kid?”

He cannot stop his own chuckle. “Ah, not particularly.” Then, he sobers, driving his point home. “It could be a garden, a soup kitchen… Even a dog. If you’re tired of fighting, you need to focus on what you love.” At her dry look, he clarifies, “Not suggesting you sign up for a dating site or anything. There  _ are _ other options.” 

Her lips twitch, and she nods. “Yeah, I think I have a few things to work through before I go there.”

Like getting her last boyfriend’s mother killed. Yeah, dating probably shouldn’t be on the table for her right now. 

“Thank you,” she says after a moment. “That was… Surprisingly good advice.” 

He offers her a wry grin. “I know it’s weird. Me, talking about helping people.” 

Unexpectedly, she grows thoughtful. “You used to, you know? When I came to you for help… Even when we were under the effects of the zaubertrank, you were trying to help me. Trying not to hurt me. Trying to… Take care of me.” 

A part of him wants to argue, to insist that his motives were purely selfish, but he hurt a lot of people while that zaubertrank was running wild in his head. There’s no denying that he took greater care with her than with anyone. 

“Maybe it’s just you,” he admits after a moment, throat a little too tight. It’s not the most romantic of confessions-he can hardly look her in the eye-but he doesn’t regret it. She has long held a special place in his heart, and he can’t bring himself to deny it. 

She draws in a sharp breath. “You know I’m not-” She starts, and frustration wells up in him.

“Juliette, please.” It’s a risk, but she goes quiet, and he plows ahead. “Now, look: you can call yourself Eve, if that’s what you want. It’s fine. But you’ve been talking about yourself the same way all night. Whatever name you’re going by, you’re still you, and we both know it.” 

Silence, for so long that he half-expects her to walk away. When he finally meets her eyes, tears glisten in them, though none fall. 

“It’s just-” She swallows. “It’s like there’s two people in my head all the time, and they hate each other. I  _ don’t  _ know if I’m Juliette, or Eve, or both, or… Or neither. I just don’t know.” 

She sounds so very lost, he can hardly remember how to breathe. Unable to resist any longer, he abandons his seat, settling beside her. “Hey…” He rests a hand against her arm, and she leans into his touch, making no move to pull away. 

After a long minute, she clears her throat. “Why?” It’s so quiet he can barely hear. 

“Why what?” 

“Why is it just me?” 

A simple question. It should be a simple answer-and an obvious one-but somehow, he doesn’t even think that’s what she’s asking. There’s more to it, and he’s at a loss for how to explain it. 

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “After first, I thought it was because you were an innocent. When we were under the effects of the zaubertrank, you had no idea what was going on.” 

She stiffens. “I do now,” she points out flatly. “And I haven’t been an innocent for a long time.”

“I know.” He can feel her slipping away, even though she’s still right beside him, so he takes a chance, cupping her cheek and turning him to face her. Her eyes are wide and unsteady as she meets his. “And I’m still here.” 

_ “Why?”  _ It’s the same question she asked before, but this time, it’s almost a plea. 

“I…” At a loss for words, he simply lets his gaze drop to her lips, lingering for a long moment, before pointedly meeting her eyes once more, a silent question lost between them. 

She doesn’t even seem to be breathing as she looks at him, expression a wild mix of hopeful and wary, curious and unsure, fearful and desperate. He’s helpless to do anything but lean in, slow and easy, giving her plenty of time to pull away. 

The first brush of lips is impossibly tentative, reminiscent of their first zaubertrank-fueled kiss. It’s little more than shared breaths, each testing the waters, asking questions that neither of them seem to know how to answer. But at the same time, it feels  _ right.  _ This is what he wants, and if she does, too-

He cups the back of her head, ready to deepen the kiss, when she draws back, catching his shoulder with her hand. Disappointment wells up in him, surprisingly strong; it’s not like he truly expected anything before, but after the last few minutes, he almost thought-

“I don’t-” She draws in a breath, steadying herself. “I don’t want to do what we’ve done before. If we do this, I want…”

“More.” He does, too. 

“Exactly. And like I said, I have some things I need to work through first,” she points out, but gently. 

And that’s fair-he probably has a few things of his own to deal with-even if he still wants nothing more than to kiss her senseless. “That was when we were talking about dating sites.” He’s mostly joking. 

Her lips twitch  _ (mission accomplished, then) _ , and she squeezes his shoulder gently. “Later,” she says, and it feels like a promise. He draws in a breath, letting the word wash through him.

_ Later.  _

“I should go,” she adds after a moment, rising to her feet. He follows on instinct, and she offers him a smile. It’s small and shaky, but privately, he cannot remember the last time he’s seen something so lovely. 

“Yeah,” he manages. “It’s late.” 

He’s not altogether sure she’ll recognize the reference, but her eyes flicker, and he knows he’s not the only one who replays their moments together more often than he probably should.

She leans in, and he has half a second to wonder if she’s changed her mind, before her lips brush his cheek, impossibly gentle, impossibly soft. And it should be ridiculous, after all they’ve shared, but that simple touch is enough to steal every last coherent thought from his mind, replacing them with the kinds of romantic fantasies reserved for teenagers and fairytale characters: dancing, dinner, roses, and happily ever after. 

Pushing that aside, he smiles at her, reminding himself that he doesn’t need some kind of fairytale. 

He is, however, very much looking forward to  _ later.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
